


Crystalline

by Musicalrain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F, Female Reader, Femslash February, First Meetings, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Mutant Powers, Mutant Reader, Pre-Avengers (2012), Reader-Insert, Swearing, X-men Inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musicalrain/pseuds/Musicalrain
Summary: You are a mutant who was groomed by Agent Phil Coulson to be his liaison with Professor Xavier. After an attack on the school, you’re shaken up, and you seek out Agent Coulson for a career-changer. He tells you there’s a position at SHIELD HQ - a secretary for the offices of Senior-level agents. It’s there that you meet someone who truly makes you feel like you belong…





	Crystalline

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre-Avengers. Female!Reader. Reader/Darcy. Happy Femslash February!

“How are you settling in?”

 

You adjust the glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose and smile up at the older man who’s wearing a soft smile of his own, just at the corners of his lips. You hope your smile comes across as friendly and not strained.

 

“Just fine… sir,” you remember to tack on the end, and feel your smile waver a bit in embarrassment. “The old secretary left notes.”

 

“I’m sure that’ll come in handy,” he nods his head and leans in a bit while his voice drops. “No one’s been giving you any trouble? Barton?”

 

You feel your smile widen, and shake your head. “Nothing I can’t handle,” you assure him.

 

“Alright,” Agent Coulson nods again and straightens. “You let me know if you need anything.”

 

“I will. Thank you sir.”

 

You watch him go with what you’re sure is a fond look on your face, and look unseeingly back down at the printed notes in your hands while your thoughts wander. You’re thankful for Agent Coulson’s concern, really. He’s a good guy, and you don’t know where you would be without him.

 

It was fortunate that he got into contact with you when he did; you were shaken and afraid, and you didn’t know who to turn to. Professor Xavier had been accommodating and nice enough when you first met him, but he had his own problems to worry about, let alone the state you were in. The whole reason you were in that situation in the first place was because of his problems. You couldn’t help but to be dragged into the drama and fighting that seemed to plague the Professor and his colleagues while living under the same roof as them.

 

You wanted nothing to do with that kind of bloodshed and loss, and perhaps it was cowardly, and perhaps it wasn’t much safer to be working at SHIELD HQ, but staying at the school was not something you could see yourself doing. Not after all that happened.

 

Shaking your head at yourself, you again focus on the notes. Agent Coulson had said the previous secretary had to leave unexpectedly, but he had the forethought to type up his typical day and a list of responsibilities for you beforehand. And based on Agent Barton’s comments about a wild mission in New Mexico that he and dozens of other agents recently got back from, you think that maybe that has something to do with the secretary’s unexpected leave. You hope nothing bad happened to him or someone he cared for, but your thoughts have been running negative as of late.

 

Your first day runs pretty uneventfully. Not taking into account the occasional loud interruptions by Agents Barton or Sitwell, and sometimes the odd nosy agent or two, there aren’t too many phone calls, and so you spend most of your time brushing up on the previous secretary’s notes, SHIELD’s protocols, and the inter-office memos. The floor you’re stationed on seems to be full of more quiet personel that don’t seem to spend much time in their offices, and that’s just fine by you. Most are active agents, but all are higher-ranking. This environment of cool professionalism is something you’d missed while working with the mutants at the school, and you’re thankful for the change of pace.

 

The next week flows much the same, and you take the necessary assessments, physicals, and are quizzed on protocol by the HR department. You pass, and your position changes from temporary to permanent. You get a new ID badge, and immediately upon seeing it you hate your photo. It’s a small thing, but you dislike how you have to pin it high on your cardigan so its awfulness is easily visible. Barton tells you he thinks the psych department is to blame for just how many bad ID pictures there are. He heard a rumor that it’s due to some psychoanalyzing bullshit, or just cause both psych and HR like to fuck with people. Needless to say, he hates his picture too, and for some reason that makes you feel better about your own.

 

Barton’s schedule seems to be something insane and inconsistent, but whenever you do see him heading to his office - once with charred clothes and hair, and another time in something you’re pretty sure is only supposed to be worn in private - he always makes a point of stopping by your desk as soon as he gets off the lift and chatting with you for at least a minute or two. At first you thought it might be flirting, but eventually you’ve come to realize it’s his way of making you feel included. You’re thankful for his thoughtfulness, and his friendship.

 

It’s after one of these chats that the phone rings, and you get your first encounter with sass the likes of which you haven’t heard before.

 

There’s a smile in your voice when you answer. “SHIELD offices, how may I direct your call?”

 

“Okay one,” a very disgruntled feminine voice starts, “I told that asshat I needed to speak to Agent Ipod-thief, and no offense, but you sound much more womanly than that jack-booted thug wannabe, which makes _zero_ sense by the way. I was very clear.”

 

“Um,” you say, trying to quickly parse through the onslaught of words and coming up with no suitable reply. “If you have a name for who you want to speak to, I can-”

 

“Oh yeah, I have a name. I have a name, and a video on my iPhone of that dick. He had _no right_ to go barging in and taking things that aren’t his, and hey - his cronies even fucked with Janie’s machines, and-”

 

“Do you want me to direct your call to HR so you can make a complaint?” You interrupt. You have no idea what this person is going on about, but you feel like the conversation is getting way out of hand.

 

“No, I don’t want to be directed to HR,” the woman snarks back. “I want my call to be directed to the office of the douche that stole my frigging iPod.”

 

“And who would that be?” You try not to sigh in exasperation, but it’s a close thing. You can’t even remember the smile you wore moments ago.

 

“Agent Phillip J. Coulson,” the woman says curtly, but then mutters, “apparently.”

 

You raise a brow, even though this woman can’t see you. So she didn’t know Agent Coulson’s name until recently, then? Well, someone was going to have hell to pay for giving out his name to irate strangers. You could only imagine what Agent Coulson would do once he found out.

 

“And may I ask who’s calling?” You say sweetly.

 

“Ugh…” There’s the sound of a huff of breath and static on the other line. “Darcy Lewis,” she grumbles her name.

 

You quirk another brow, say “one moment please,” and pull up Agent Coulson’s contact information on your computer. There’s a disclaimer and a list provided of authorized personnel permitted to phone the agent’s direct line. It’s also noted that he takes all personal calls on his cell, and there’s a lengthy list of restrictions. You scan the document and see no one by the woman’s name listed.

 

“I’m sorry,” you say after short moments, consciously making your voice sound sincere and apologetic, even though the woman was just rude and obnoxious to you moments ago. “It doesn’t seem you’re permitted to access to Agent Coulson’s line. I can take a message, if you want.”

 

Another gusty sigh is your answer. “This is ridiculous. Stupid, shady government agencies and their stupid, shady agents that steal personal property-”

 

“Do you want me to write all that down?” You interrupt with a sugary sweet voice.

 

The woman snorts on the other line. “No,” she clears her throat. “Just say, ah, Darcy Lewis wants her iPod back.” There’s a moment of silence, and then she adds loudy, “And he better not have touched my playlists!”

 

These phone calls go on for some time.

 

Each time you write down the woman’s demands, interrupt her when she goes on tangents, and offer to direct her call to someone that can help her file a complaint. She never wants to be redirected. You wonder who gave her the number to your floor, and secretly hate whoever passed off the number. You suspect it was the reception desks on the ground level. Very few people outside of SHIELD had the ability to phone the senior-level offices, and she’s literally the only one who pesters you so incessantly.

 

You pass on the messages via email to Agent Coulson, and you never receive a reply. Even when you see the man in person, it seems he has no wish to discuss the woman’s iPod. You can’t blame him; the woman must be as much, if not more, of a nuisance to him than she is to you.

 

Ms Lewis surprises you towards the end of her latest phone call, however.

 

“So, uh, hey. I realized I never asked, but who have I been talking to?”

 

If you could bang your head on your desk and not be caught on the security cameras, you would. “I’m a receptionist,” you reply, your tone straining to be neutral and pleasant. You tack on your name after a moment, only offering your first name to an otherwise stranger.

 

She says it’s nice to meet you, and switches the conversation back to her complaints.

 

She seems to ask more and more questions about you as her phone calls continue, and you’re baffled by her sudden interest in you.

 

Once she raves on and on about SHIELD, then tangents on to talk about the government, and then politics, and you interrupt her more sternly than you ever have in the past.

 

“Ma’am,” you say in your most assertive tone, “I’m sorry, but none of that is my concern, nor anything I can help you with. I’m just trying to do my job.” You can hear her stunned silence on the other end of the phone, “Now, may I direct your call? Or is that all?”

 

“Sorry,” a part of you is shocked that she’s apologized, but another part is unmoved by the break in character. “I was just trying to- I mean, I didn’t mean to fuck with your job, or anything. You haven’t gotten in trouble because of me, have you?”

 

Why would you get in trouble? You honestly don’t know why she would think you would, and you ask as much.

 

“Oh,” you hear her shock. “Just, um, cause of the way we’ve been talking…” You hear her uncertainty, and you honestly wonder what she’s on about.

 

“Why would I get in trouble because of that?” You ask.

 

“Ah,” she clears her throat. “No idea,” she says quickly, and continues in an even faster mumble. “So, um, my boss has this thing in New York coming up and Iwaswonderingifyouwantedtomeetupsometime.”

 

You blink, and then you look down at the little light on your desk that signifies that, yes, the phone call is still connected and that just happened.

 

“Um…” You say eloquently, but you can’t seem to decide on just _what_ to reply.

 

“We’re, err, friends, right? Maybe we could meet up for lunch? If that’s… cool?”

 

“Give me a minute to think about it,” you finally say.

 

“Okay,” she says. And you wonder if it’s your imagination that you hear the dejection in her voice.

 

“I’ll speak to you later, Ms Lewis. You have a good day.”

 

“You too.”

 

The call ends, and she didn’t even leave a message for Agent Coulson.

 

It’s going on four days later and Darcy hasn’t called your desk. You can’t put your finger on it, but her absence doesn’t sit well with you. You keep catching yourself looking at the phone, and wondering. It’s disheartening, you realize, just how much dealing with her phone calls kept you occupied and made you feel useful, in some small way.

 

You see Clint walking through the elevator’s doors once you’ve settled down after your lunch break, and you feel a weak smile plaster itself across your face when he waves to you. It’s unlike you, and Clint seems to notice too.

 

“Hey,” he searches your face. “What’s going on?”

 

You shrug, “Nothing.” He doesn’t look convinced, and you sigh. “This is going to sound crazy, but you know that girl that calls about her iPod just about every day?”

 

He nods his head, so you continue. “I think she asked me out?” Your words come out uncertain, and your brow furrows. “I don’t know, it could’ve been a friendly thing? But I said I would think about it, and it’s been days, but she hasn’t called back.”

 

He leans on your desk a bit, and all his laser-eyed focus is on you. It’d be intimidating if you weren’t used to his behavior by now. “So did you think about it?”

 

You nod your head, “Yeah, but I don’t know.”

 

He cocks his head, “Why not?”

 

“Uh,” you take off your tinted glasses and wave at your face. “Because of these, and because… I don’t really know what she’s asking.”

 

Clint’s gaze flickers over your eyes, and you can’t help but feel uneasy about it, even though he’s seen your eyes plenty of times already. The amber-tinted lenses are only really good for making your eyes less noticeable at first glance, but they don’t hide what they are. Or rather, what _you_ are. Your feline-like slitted pupils are difficult to be mistaken for anything else, and they only hint at the vision you’ve been gifted due to some lucky, or not so lucky depending on who you ask, genes.

 

“Well, I think your eyes are cool,” he says with a reassuring quirk of his lips and his laughter lines deep at the corners of his eyes. “And why don’t you just ask her what she means? Don’t you have her number?”

 

No, you don’t have her number, but you could find it. You only work at SHIELD.

 

Turns out, you don’t have to dig much, because Clint sends you an email later in the afternoon with only a string of emojis - a lightning bolt, a spider, a storm cloud, a winking face, and a thumbs up - and a New Mexico phone number. You can’t make sense of the emojis, but you think the number is probably Darcy’s.

 

She picks up after the third ring. “Ms-, I mean, Darcy?”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” you hear her breathe. “It’s you. Hey, why did it come up unregistered?”

 

“I’m calling on my work phone,” you pause nervously, and the silence stretches. You wonder briefly what bought of insanity drove you to do this. You blame Barton. “So, I was wondering… What did you mean when you asked me out for lunch?”

 

“Well, we’re flying out to New York tomorrow, and I just thought-” you can hear her wince, and she sighs. “It’s stupid, but you sounded nice, even when I was being a brat, and I don’t know… I kinda like you?” After this admission, she hurries to add, “And that’s even more stupid cause I don’t even know what you look like, or if you’re even into chicks, or-”

 

“Darcy,” you interrupt, and can’t help but smile at how reminiscent this phone call is to all the others. “I’d like to meet up for lunch.”

 

“Oh,” she says again. “Okay.”

 

And then you two make plans to meet up at one of your favorite places that Sunday, in order to give her enough time to settle into her hotel and unpack. You don’t say out loud that Sundays seem more casual to you than Saturdays, and it’s been awhile since you’ve last went on a date; you don’t think you could handle the pressure of a Saturday thing just yet.

 

It’s silly, but after your phone call you feel equally jumpy with nerves and pleased and happy that things went so well. You struggle to sit still at your desk, and you can’t wipe the smile off your face. Even some of the more grouchy and self-important senior agents don’t dampen your mood.

 

Clint comes by at the end of the day, takes one look at you, and gives you a big smile and a thumbs up. It gives you the confidence to not freak out until you’re home and staring at your closet.

 

When Sunday comes, with several outfit changes later, you settle on your favorite jeans, a comfy top, and a light jacket to fend off the breeze. You don’t know what to expect, having never seen Darcy before, and you’re nervous.

 

What if she’s way older than you? What if she’s way younger? What if she’s dressed way nicer than you and makes you feel like you just rolled out of a dumpster? What if she takes one look at your eyes and decides, nope, not having anything to do with that?

 

You sigh and look at the little case housing your ‘human’ contact lenses. You only have a couple pairs, and have only worn them a handful of times. You feel like wearing them betrays your mutantness on some level, and is dishonest on another. You much prefer to wear your colored glasses, and just try to make your eyes less noticeable. That way, you feel like you’re still being true to yourself and who you are.

 

But you can’t help but to wonder if it’ll make a difference with Darcy. You know a little about her and can judge some of her character from your previous phone calls, but you largely don’t know who she is. She’s relatively a stranger to you, and you have no idea how she’ll react on seeing you’re a mutant. Your mutation has been met with a whole range of reactions since you were small, and though you have experience with them, and can expect them most of the time, it still hurts when someone you like or are invested in reacts poorly.

 

You decide to leave behind the cosmetic contact lenses and you swap your colored frames for your sunglasses. You’ll wear the sunglasses on the subway, but once you’re at the restaurant you’ll take them off and be bare-eyed for your lunch with Darcy. You decide you’d rather just get it over with and see how she’ll react.

 

Turns out, you worry for nothing.

 

A girl with a beanie, a brightly colored scarf, and the sleeves of her shirt poking out from the edges of her slightly-too-small jacket waves you down outside the restaurant. You had texted her the color of your jacket and shirt beforehand, and notice the bright red lipstick and large purse she had mentioned in her reply.

 

“Darcy?” You ask when you’re closer.

 

She nods her head and darts in for a quick hug before you can react, and you’re left with the impression of her arms wrapped around you and the faint smell of something floral when she pulls back and beams a bright smile at you. “Hey! It’s good to see you!”

 

“You too, “ You can’t help an answering smile that stretches your lips wide. You reach up and touch the edge of your sunglasses when it looks like she’s about to step back and head into the restaurant, and decide to rip the proverbial band-aid off.

 

You see her smile waver and hear the small intake of breath she makes, and you think _here it comes_ . You’re still close enough to her to see her eyes widen in surprise, and there’s no mistaking she’s noticed your eyes. At a distance, most people mistake them for normal, but this close the edges of your slitted pupil are defined and so alien-looking. _Mutant_ , they scream.

 

“Oh wow,” she breathes softly, and seems to unconsciously reach a hand up to just barely touch the corner of one eye. “Those are beautiful. Are they real?”

 

That… you weren’t prepared for that. It’s enough to send your heart beating rapidly at the base of your throat and your thoughts swirling a mile a minute. You had hoped the reaction would’ve been positive, or at least neutral, but…

 

“Yeah, they’re real.” You clench your hands least you do something stupid like reach out towards her or something. And you hope your pulse slows down sometime soon, cause it’s making it even more difficult to think. “I’m a mutant.”

 

“Really?” Her smile is resplendent. “That’s _so_ cool.” She reaches down and twines your hand with hers before tugging lightly. “C’mon, lets get inside and I’ll tell you a little something about myself too,” and she winks.

 

You feel an odd sensation like you’re swooning, even though you didn’t think that was even possible, and gladly follow her into the restaurant.

 

It turns out that Darcy Lewis is everything you were hoping for, and then some.

 

She easily accepts your mutantness like it’s no big deal - not something to be fawned over, nor something to be afraid of, and you’re flying high on the feeling of easy acceptance. You learn the story of how Agent Coulson stole her iPod, and in turn learn about actual alien gods and interdimensional travel. You learn that Darcy isn’t from New Mexico, just works and studies there, and that the trip to New York was for her boss to smooze SHIELD into hiring them officially instead of just stealing all of their research. She doesn’t think SHIELD will go for it, but she appreciates the break from the lab anyway.

 

In turn, you tell her the story of how you met Agent Coulson and the work you did both before and after you became a receptionist at SHIELD. You tell her that your mutation isn’t just having a differently-shaped pupil, but that you can see better than most, only need a fraction of light to see clearly, and that you totally have night vision. You tell her about your new friendship with Agent Barton, and about how nosy some agents can be. You tell her stories, and share bits and pieces of your life, and she takes it all in stride with an edge of fascination and wonder. You find it easy to talk with her, easy to joke with her, and easy to laugh.

 

You appreciate everything, even her questionable sense of humor and the silences while you eat, and you are so glad in that moment that she’s been pestering you with phone calls this whole time.

 

When lunch has wound down, and you’re both left with drinks more empty than full, you promise, “I’ll get your iPod back.”

 

She throws back her head and laughs. She’s quick to assure you, though. “No, no… It’s not that I don’t think you’ll try or anything like that, but I’m starting to think it’s a lost cause. Maybe Agent Ipod-thief actually doesn’t have it,” she shrugs.

 

You frown in thought. “Maybe, but there has to be records of it somewhere. I’ll look into it, at least. ”

 

Her expression is soft and kind when she says, “You’re so sweet.”

 

You never do find her iPod, but that’s okay. Darcy shows you just how much she appreciates your trying, and if anything the fruitless effort serves to bring you closer together. And you soon discover that you’ll need that closeness, that person to rely on when everything else has fallen apart, especially for the things to come. Working for SHIELD and working for Jane Foster both come with their own hardships, and you make it through it together. You find it’s all worth it though, because by the end of it all you both gain something better - each other.

 


End file.
